


Inkling

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is very sad," Danny says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inkling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lamardeuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/gifts).



> For lamardeuse, as a very belated birthday gift. Thanks to dogeared for betaing!

"This is very sad," Danny says. "This is probably the most pathetic thing I've seen all day. I mean, I had an inkling—"

"An inkling?" Steve says flatly. "What are you, someone's maiden aunt? And give that back to me."

"—a suspicion," Danny continues, as if Steve hadn't said a word, because he's really not interested in what Steve has to say at this moment in time, "because I am a detective, I am a very good detective, and therefore I am able to take your bizarre affection for disco and that smirk and your hair—"

"Hey!" Steve reaches up to touch his head, realises what he's doing, and hurriedly sticks his hands in his pockets. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it, I'm just saying you put all those things together and it don't take much to extrapolate the kind of god-awful playlists you're liable to have on this thing." Danny turns his attention back to Steve's iPod. "The Beach Boys, the Stones—predictable, a little clichéd, but not offensive. I could listen to this without my brain liquifying and dribbling out my ears. But then you got to go and add to this. Tiffany. Bonnie Tyler— _multiple_ songs by Bonnie Tyler. The entire soundtrack to _Dirty Dancing_? Are you deliberately messing with me here?"

Steve shrugs. "I like 'em. Got a beat. You can dance to it."

Danny reaches the end of the playlist and cannot prevent the snort of derision that escapes him. " _I've Never Been to Me_? McGarrett. This is not a playlist, this is not an orderly sequence of pleasing tunes, this is aural torture right here. If the Governor caught you playing this to suspects, even she'd say that her authorisation to use any and all means didn't include _this_. Dangle them off a building, okay. Feed them to sharks, fine. That whole thing with the clowns, sure. I mean, ethically, I got problems with that, I'm uncomfortable with what it says about the intrinsic nature of the human being, but okay. But this? This is the kind of thing that kills a man's soul. His _soul_."

"I'm asking you nicely," Steve says, "to give me back the iPod."

"And I am telling you," Danny replies, spreading his arms wide, "in a reasonable manner, that I will not be doing that. Do you know why I will not be doing that, Steve?"

Steve rubs at his forehead. "No, I don't."

"Because," Danny says, poking Steve in the chest with his iPod and then slapping at Steve's hand when Steve tries to take the iPod back from him, "if you can make your Neanderthal animal brain think back to just a few seconds ago—"

"I resent that," Steve says mildly.

"Of course you do," Danny says, "because the truth hurts, my friend. And I am a cop skilled at putting together evidence, at getting a read on a person, so I know I should be offended by what you got on this thing not just on a _general_ level, not just because I'm worried for civilisation and human decency and the kind of world my daughter's going to grow up in knowing that some people are willfully still listening to _Africa_ by Toto, but on a personal level."

"Danny, you know that you're not making any sense, right?"

"Oh, oh, I'm not making any sense? Well, I apologise if I don't speak Commander Steven J. McGarrett, if I don't got what it takes to communicate in a way that you can understand. But let me tell you one thing—I comprehend what _you_ say just fine, and pardon me for taking offence that this is what passes for mood music with you."

Steve makes a face—the one that Danny has come to think of, maybe, God help him, a little fondly, as 'Constipated Hamster with Additional Aneurysm'—and after a long moment, manages to say "Excuse me?"

"Do not play dumb with me!" Danny says. "Do not! You may _behave_ in a dumb way pretty damn constantly, what with the throwing yourself off buildings and moving cars and exploding tiki bars and cliffs—"

"Jesus Christ, I said I was sorry! About all those times!" Steve says, not looking in the least bit repentant. This is the kind of crazy person who joins the SEALs, Danny thinks—not just the kind of person who thinks extreme sports are fun, but the kind of person who thinks genuine near-death experiences qualify as a sport. Near-death experiences in a _tiki bar_. Danny still can't look at one of those little cocktail umbrellas without shuddering.

"—but I have a _second_ inkling which tells me that there is in fact a brain up there, somewhere up there in the stratosphere, and that you used that brain to think to yourself, 'Self, when I finally decide to do more than just flirt with Danny and actually maybe, I don't know, kiss him, ask him out, see if he's amenable to the idea of some kind of relationship that is semi-functional and offers at least a moderate number of orgasms in recompense for all the emotional stress I put him through—'"

"How did we get from the contents of my iPod to _orgasms_?" Steve asks. His attempt at befuddled confusion would be a lot more successful if he wasn't staring down at Danny's mouth, Danny will tell you that for nothing.

"I do not know, my friend!" Danny says, tossing the iPod over onto Steve's couch. "I do not know how we will, because somewhere inside your thick skull you thought that _that_ stuff was music to woo me by, and that is just unacceptable."

Steve blinks down his nose at Danny, looking for all the world like a wary giraffe, albeit a giraffe with some freaky ninja combat skills. "The wooing, or the music?"

Danny does not tear his hair out, because Danny is a man of great patience—eight years married to Rachel, two years being very pointedly _not_ married to Rachel, and almost a year working alongside Steve have demonstrated that very nicely, thanks so much. "Am I speaking a language that is not English, here?"

Steve's shrug aims for nonchalant, but doesn't quite make it. "You _are_ from Jersey."

"Oh, I see," Danny says, taking a step forward until he's just a little too close to Steve for comfort, for plausible deniability; until he's in close orbit around Steve, just like always, able to smell the salt-water scent of him, to see his Adam's apple working. Danny grins. "Now we're reduced to taking pot-shots at Jersey, huh? Well, that is not going to work. I do not see that working. You know why?"

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway," Steve says.

"Ah," Danny says, "now he catches on! Yes, I am going to tell you anyway—I am going to tell you that this whole wooing process is ridiculous."

Steve's face falls, just for a moment, in an expression that Danny thinks no bad-ass, fucked-in-the-head Navy SEAL should be able to make—and it's kind of glorious to watch that expression change, bit by bit, as Danny continues, "It's ridiculous, is what it is, because I've already been wooed! You, me, we are post-wooing. Can we just get on to the canoodling already?"

"Canoodling? Seriously?"

And yeah, Danny's definitely got it bad, because the smile that's spreading over Steve's face right now is enough to make Danny's stomach do ten different kinds of flip-flop. He shuffles another little bit forward so that they're toe-to-toe. "You want to critique my word choices here? You, the guy who voluntarily has a copy of _I Want to Know What Love Is_?"

"Well," Steve starts, because he's got to be the one to win every goddamn argument, and does Danny have the time for that right now? No, he does not. "If you go by track record here—"

"Jeez," Danny says, "for the love of God." And seriously, detective here—he loops an arm around Steve's waist, lets his fingertips curl up beneath the hem of Steve's shirt, tugs Steve's mouth down to his—and he's got an inkling, a suspicion, a sure thing, right here.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Inkling [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6718432) by [librarychick_94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarychick_94/pseuds/librarychick_94)




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